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 Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense...  The lady of the lake, The lord of the Isles ,The lay of the last minstrel ... - Стр. 22 авторы: sir Walter Scott (bart.) - 1868 Полный просмотр -
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